Today listening to National Radio as I worked, the subject of breast feeding versus bottles came up. We all have opinions on this especially if you have ever had anything to do with the primary caregiving of a baby. And frankly, if you haven't, then you’d be wise to decline comment; especially in a room full of mothers. I did copious amounts of both nourishment methods for 2 babies and I have no die hard views on which is best unless it concerns the mother who at Playcentre tidy up time always insisted her 3 year old needed a full feed right then and settled down in the bean bag with her homespun jersey up whilst the other preschoolers and care givers ran around putting the blocks and puzzles away. Easy to spot a lazy tart. But the bottle isn’t all about shirking either, as the following addresses…
Happy Mammaries…
If you’ve ever had a baby You’ll perhaps recall with dread, Not the hours and hours of labour, And the crowning of the head.
Or the hemorrhoids and stitches, Saggy tum and wobbly rump, No.. the really awful process Was the ‘Easy Flow’ breast pump.
If you stayed in neonatal, Or your baby wouldn’t suck, Maybe work was pressing, And your breasts were filling up,
You were guaranteed to leak, In soggy circles on your top, Until your breasts faced plastic, And only then, would stop.
Whilst your neighbor filled up freezers, You pumped in hope for hours, Yielding half an egg-cup full, In two and three drop showers.
Then the toddler knocked it over, And the cat licked up the mess, So… Who made up some formula? Come on girls, just confess!
I’ve been a bit quiet here since Dr Sketchy’s; there’s a reason for that. Even though it was the models who took their clothes off- it was me that caught the cold.
Combined with trying to keep on top of the various things I willfully commit myself too (through no other reason that I can’t bear to miss out on anything), something had to give. So the blog suffered (as did I).
The annual experience of a virus put me in mind of this poem I wrote a few years ago during my 8 year stint as a regular columnist for Next Magazine. Feel free to print it out and stick it to your medicine cabinet. Irritatingly, backyard P manufacturers have made it almost impossible to buy anything with pseudoephedrine in it across the counter without a police check first. I worry constantly that the boys in blue will come knocking at my door because we’ve had 4 packets over as many weeks. Who wants to get high? I just crave a clear head!
That junk mail that comes into your inbox…you know, the thing you signed up to because you might just win a weekends shopping or dinner for two at Martin Bosley's…the one you forget to unsubscribe to? Well sometimes it’s worth reading; like KNOW Wellington- a handy little ‘what’s on’ e-guide that, this week, delivered something that I’ve been waiting a long, long time for...
Let me backtrack a little… Design School 1978, Wellington Polytech (now MasseyUniversity, but everyone who went there still call it ‘tech’), life drawing tutor, Ron Burt. Back in those days everyone smoked or got smoked over, even during class and Ron was a champion inhaler. He was the kind of man who could take a long drag of a cigarette, exhale nothing but stale air, and retain an impressive amount of ash- up to an inch I swear- on the end of his fag. Ron would always sigh loudly as he came up behind me and my work, looking over my shoulder and smoking to ease the pain of teaching idiot students who couldn’t draw but thought they could.
“Here, let me,” he’d say and I’d dutifully give him my seat and he would proceed, in three or four deft strokes, to capture the model perfectly.
“There, now try it like that,” and with ash finally falling (mostly onto your work), off he’d move to the next student. I’d come away profoundly depressed, screwing up my feeble attempts and binning them, so no-one would ever see my failures. Had I been forward thinking, I’d have kept Ron’s work scrawled so cleverly over mine. He was truly gifted.
There followed another year at ‘tech, another tutor similarly despairing of my work (sorry Roger) and I really thought by the end of two years that I should give up drawing altogether. But my photography and film making skills were equally lacking, and I couldn’t get the hang of typography (you mean there’s more to it than Helvetica?) so up life drawing popped into my timetable for a third year. I was bored with it, bored with the naked models in boring poses and uninspired lighting. No sound save the scratching of pencils and the occasional cough. Ground hog day for art.
Enter Sue Skerman. Tutor extraordinaire.
“I don’t want to see you drawing with anything thinner than a lipstick and white paper is banned,” she ordered.
“Get off those donkeys (the wooden seats with easels attached that we sat at) and onto the floor. I want you to kneel, stand, lie down if you like, anything but sit at a desk.”We were shocked; deliciously.
“You will take turns to set up the model with props, music and lighting.” This woman was smokin’ - not smoking.
“And draw BIG.” And we did. Considering the class was held in the evening after a long day grappling with major projects and life drawing was not a subject that made any difference to an overall pass or fail, you might expect that tired students would skip class. But we didn’t; Dr Sue cured us of our apathy. I found the artist in me and produced the finest life drawings of my entire career in those sessions.
Over the years I have said, as we artists all do, “I must go to life drawing again,” remembering times we drew wonderfully and trying to recapture those days before digital media took over our lives. So I do and always, there are desks and a model who looks like she would rather be at the Kirks sale than stand naked before a bunch of mostly old farts. The lighting is harsh, and a church-like hush smothers the room. And I am a first year student again with the ghost of Ron hovering over me sighing with despair.
But not at Mighty Mighty, not with Dr Sketchy’s AntiArtSchool. Think Toulouse Lautrec, think Moulin Rouge, think Priscilla Queen of the Desert. From humble beginnings in New York, it is now an international fringe phenomenon.
‘Dr. Sketchy is a life/figure drawing session with a twist. The concept is simple... Artists draw glamorous burlesque dancers and performance artists, compete in contests, and win wonderful prizes. And can enjoy a drink too.’
So, having seen it advertised in my inbox, I rocked up to one of my favourite bars in Wellington (grungy but good) with my paper and pastels, bought a beer and took a seat. The atmosphere was friendly, and I was relieved to see I wasn’t too old. No-one quite knew what to expect, but Foxy Rachel Rouge in a fabulous corset took us through the format of the show, because a show it is. Eva Strangelove took the stage first with a saucy purple ostrich feather fan, sparkly bra and intriguing fringes at her hips and suspenders. Lithe and attractive, she danced a lively introduction, then settled down for 5, 10 and 20 minute poses, variously reclined on a sumptuous red couch or perched atop a bentwood chair. Music played, challenges were issued (now draw with your other hand), competitions for the best dressed audience member (I must wear my sunflower print vintage dress next time)… then it was Rhubarb’s turn. A big ‘lady’, kept fully clothed and very comic. We were asked to draw her in a hat or headdress (that wasn’t there) and I took the prize with my seashell creation. Thankyou to Calico Jack's for the vouchers!
Then all too soon (could it really have been 3 hours?) it was over. We all looked at each others work, packed up our pastels, pens, paper and inks and headed away, with huge smiles back up Cuba St. Thankyou Dr Sketchy, you saved me, and I’ll see you again next month. Best $14 bucks I’ve spent in a long time.
I'm running a Wearable Art workshop in my gloriousstudio on the 4th April. It's a perfect one day intensive to get you up and running for the creative season of WOW. Click on the pic on the right to find out more details!
If you got here from Michelle Powles blog then click here to get to my latest post!
Today the finalists for the New Zealand Post Children’s Book Awards were announced. This is cause for much celebration amongst us supporting Children’s Literature, particularly in Wellington where no less than eleven of the writers and illustrators of the twenty books short listed books have been named. This means that per head of population- we here in Welly are doing pretty damned well aren’t we?
And I say ‘we’ like it’s a personal triumph. Well, it feels like it and I spent a moment to wonder ‘why I am so excited for everyone?’ Well, it boils down to this: I have some sort of connection with almost every author and illustrator on the list. From touring with them, drinking coffee and /or wine with them, being on the television with them, watching them meet impossible deadlines in their studios, e-mailing and blogging with them, using their books as examples of fine illustration and writing when running courses, making armour with them at Weta, being mentored by them, illustrating for them, or judging books last year with them…you see New Zealand is a wonderfully small place and it is possible to know and experience a great deal of talent personally. So I’m feeling the love!
Congratulations to all my talented friends and colleagues. Your joy is mine too, and I look forward to applauding you on the night! And if you didn’t get short listed this year and are feeling a little blue, then consider that the ones who did are representing us all to the rest of the world when it comes to Children’s Book Publishing and we all have a part in their success in some way with friendship, moral support, networking, reviewing and helping launch each other in our careers. We just can’t do it all alone.
I haven’t been brave enough before to list publicly, ‘books I have been reading lately’ for fear that I will show my true nature. Then I thought…'what IS my true nature?’ and what do I like in a book? Do I read them to impress others or because I think I should or because I chanced upon one or had it recommended to me? Do I take notice of reviews both good and bad and find in the reading that my own opinion is what counts. Does it appeal? Does it have me riveted? Does it make me laugh, cry or think a bit about the world and where I sit within it? Do I press it on other people saying ‘You MUST read this!’
So in that spirit (the one that asserts itself above any pretensions I might have to anything) what I have really enjoyed lately are these three. This is how I stumbled upon them and why I didn’t turn to the last page after the first chapter to see if it was still worth reading…
The Ten PM Question- Kate De Goldi.
Heard reviews, saw it was still on the top ten best seller list and wholly admire Kate for her astounding knowledge and contribution to Children’s’ Literature. Loved the quirky characters, detail and writing style (also the cover by the exceptional Sarah Maxey) Left me with a smile and a genuine fondness for Frankie and his family. I cared about them. Wished I could write like that.
On Top of Everything- Sarah-Kate Lynch
Saw it was still on that top ten best seller list (this is a fairly good indication that something is eminently readable). Had a spare book voucher, was in Whitcoulls at the airport, am trying to write a kind of chic lit myself so deemed it ‘research’. Read it on the plane to and fro the capital, laughed as I continued to read, whilst waiting for a mammogram, then finally, reluctantly finished it late at night, sobbing deliciously into my pillow. Cried in the shower again the next morning just thinking about the ending. Wished I could write like that.
End of The Alphabet- Fleur Beale
Someone pointed out to me that Fleur had written me into her new YA book as 'Fifi on the telly' who on that occasion made houses and shops from boxes. So in case of art imitating life, or is it the other way around? I made the boxes detailed in the text, on the Good Morning Show today and we promoted Fleur’s latest book (see what you can happen if you mention me?) But to talk about the book of course I had to read it. And you know, I learned something new- about getting backbone (which the main character, Ruby, sets about doing). Whilst Ruby’s fortitude is needed around her brother, mine is around my son. So I followed the advice she was given and I can say….it worked! A great read with plenty to offer anyone who feels a little taken advantage of… and I wished I could write like that.
Here are the house boxes I made- 'Dream Homes'. Each has the thing you'd love most in them- you can just see Mr Darcy in one of them, and a man cooking in my kitchen in another. I am hoping that my three authors of the month might just think if they saw them ‘I wish I could wield a glue gun like that!’
I came across these sketches in an old visual diary. They are circa 1995 and were my doodles of some of the people who attended a hui for Writer’s and Illustrators of Children’s Books. It was my first time venturing into the world of kid’s lit- not that I hadn’t illustrated anything back then; indeed I had around 8 books to my credit at that stage. But as a commercial illustrator for advertising and design, children’s books were just a poorly paid hobby that I indulged in from time to time- mostly for the joy of seeing my name immortalized in print (you ever see the artists name on a yoghurt pot beside the fruit illustrations?) Curious about this fringe arm of my occupation, I chose to immerse myself in a weekend full of people dedicated to this bizarre obsession that earned so little money- just for the hell of it and to get away from the demands of a family for a few days.
The hui, initially hosted by Joy Cowley in her Marlborough Sounds home was held at Wellington’s Capital House in Melrose, not far from the zoo. Lions roared eerily at night; the sounds carried up to the conference venue and sent a delicious shiver down the creative spine. So too did the talk. Some of it meant little to me ‘moral rights, global rights, authors fund…’ I barely looked at my contracts when I signed to do a bunch of pics for a book. I was only interested in when the advance would be paid; I obviously had plenty to learn.
I met the famous writers of books my children had read; Joy Cowley, Margaret Mahy, Tessa Duder to name drop just a few. I met illustrators whose worked I admired; Martin Baynton, Robin Belton; Trevor Pye... I met writers and illustrators I didn’t yet know would become best selling authors, mentors and friends. I ate, I drank, I used my brand new mobile phone inexpertly and inappropriately (oh we’ve all come along way when it comes to turning the thing onto silent and let it go to message haven’t we?)
I fell back in love with Wellington which, when I had left it for Christchurch in 1981, had seemed sad and half torn down, bereft of decent bars and prospects. After the hui, I went back sulkily to Christchurch, determined to return to Wellington to live someday. I also went back in-love with the world of Children’s Books. We moved to the capital city a year later. Since then, I’ve done an MA in creative writing, illustrated a heap more books, toured schools with the Storylines Festival and NZ Book Council, written three novels, been an NZPost Book Awards Judge and Convener of the Wellington Children’s Book Association for the past two years. Wow- amazing what a weekend can inspire eh?
So it seems appropriate, given my fascination, that I am on a committee of writers, illustrators, teachers and librarians working hard to bring a full scale Children’s Book Writer’s and Illustrator’s conference back to Capital House in September 18th, 19th and 20th of this year. Keep an eye out on the WCBA blog for more details to be released as soon as we have confirmed our speakers and workshops. In the meantime, see if you can guess who my sketches are of.Of course I know- just seeing if you do!
This weekend hosts the Open Studio Tour during the Wellington 2009 Fringe Festival. Download a map and visit working artists all around the city. This is a free event and this is your opportunity to have a yarn, make a wee Valentines Day gift, inspect some Wearable Art up close and personal, touch a velvet painting, view some original childrens book illustrations and get a feel for where I work and how. Bring yourself, friends, whanau- I would love to see you there!
Well I may dip out on grants, awards and residencies of literary note, but the Glory is mine this week. Or should I say its Penny's, my lovely editor at Scholastic- it's in her inbox as I write. All 39,617 words of it. We have just finished the final edits for this, my third junior fiction novel and now all that remains is the mark up, typesetting, proofs, printing, distribution, launch, marketing, launch and selling of lots of copies...
New Year 2009 and I find myself in a place I’ve never been before. Not the physical space- Hataitai remains the same as ever; Salvation coffee down the road annoyingly closed until the 14th (but I’ll be there panting at the door for Graham’s great brew), the weather mysteriously changeable and the garden suffering a great lack of weeding. But this year, both offspring are working at pizza parlours and restaurants and no, they don’t go back to school at the end of the month; they start Uni semesters late Feb. So we now have two adults in the house all day living vampire hours. I feel in an odd sort of limbo; the ‘going back to school date’ has always been a kind of deadline for me to regroup for the year and start work again. You know, the endless putting stuff out there and seeing if anything comes back kind of life that freelancers have. So here I am on the 13th January thinking ‘Crap! I probably have to start now because if I wait until Uni goes back we’ll be well into the year and I’ll still be dithering, not to mention broke.’
So I have started gently by running a summer writing and illustration workshop with Saradha Koirala who is an upcoming writer and poet with a string of successes under her youthful belt already. We have a keen bunch of 12-14 year old girls in my studio daily, learning skills to inspire them into the future and I am relishing the delight of that age group who are old enough to make witty and entertaining conversation without the teenaged slouch and emo that comes with turning 15.
Our own daughter has been there and done that (giggle, slouch, emo) and has now emerged as a fine young woman about to turn 21. I found this picture I did of her when I had a new box of pastels and she was a ten year old. Who knew at that age what she would find as her passion other than her cat? Who knew who or what would inspire her along the way? As teachers of one sort or another, we can show, point and ask questions of our youth until they find out what it is they love. I hope that out of our little group of aspiring writers and artists this week, some will find their way with words and images in the future and be the storytellers of tomorrow. Because without them, society is colourless is it not?
